


Northern Hospitality

by robertocasa



Series: Commonwealth Provisional Anthology [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertocasa/pseuds/robertocasa
Summary: In just a few days, the Commonwealth Provisional Government is set to become official. Wright's Inn will host the proceedings, and the team is as excited as they are busy. Spirits are high, but the Institute is low.
Series: Commonwealth Provisional Anthology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077119
Kudos: 3





	1. Our State of Nature

The building we call Wright’s Inn went up years after the bombs, but as I’ve heard it, similar places with similar names have existed around the same spot as long as the country has. Not the country they’re trying to piece together out of what’s become of the Commonwealth, but the United States itself. The country that fought the War.

You’d think I would care more than I do about Concord’s history. Guests at the bar tell me that all the time, once they’ve had enough to think we’re flirting. Honestly, though, I don’t trust anyone with stories older than my grandfather – and he never trusted anyone whose stories he couldn’t remember seeing firsthand. In his later years that number only shrunk with each day that passed, so I doubt any half-pickled caravan Casanova from south of the river has any insight to offer me.

My family has some kind of pre-War connection to the town, but the details got roasted alongside most of our sainted relatives. As grandpa told me, a few of them made it into a vault somewhere – passed off as someone else’s kids, a shady-sounding situation no one ever explained to me. A couple generations later, my great-grandparents and their siblings came out of their homevault and made the pilgrimage to see where they “came from”.

Not much left to see by then, but they managed to scrape out some kind of life working with a few others who had set up in the area. We’ve stuck around ever since, in my case at least because there is nothing else to go to. Given this provisional government thing works out and the roads aren’t crawling with the Jet set anymore I might try to get down to Lexington, at least. Just to see something new.

If the legends are true, before the sainted America happened some people met in a bar like ours to plan it out. Guess that’s why the Minutemen and the Commonwealth Provisional Government (sounds so real when you write it out like that!) want this location for the Consternational Convention, or whatever they call their little get-together.

Lucky break for us, because since the announcement last year the town has seen about three times the usual traffic. Not only are we set to house the delegates and Minutemen in a couple days, but only since the last month or so do we have any competition in the lodging business. Never before have the caps flowed so freely – or the drinks. Amos has us working harder than ever, but partying just as hard, too. So it isn’t all bad.

Tonight I finally hit the rude juice hard enough to get stupid, and I asked him about how his family got hold of the Inn. “Amos,” I said, “how come your folks ended up running this old place and having the family name to go with it? Doesn’t sound too likely to me.”

“Unlikely things happen every day,” he said. His sudden distant thinky-man tone made it clear he did not like the question. “They just don’t usually happen to the same people.”


	2. Prepare the Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team at Wright's Inn battle their hangovers to prepare for the record number of guests arriving tomorrow for the Provisional Government conference.

No one ever knows what time it is. Amos is the worst about pretending he does if it means he can lecture you for showing up late. But this morning I woke up painfully aware that I overslept. If I run any risk of forgetting why, the two extra Gwinnett Stouts I should’ve skipped have set up camp in the back of my head, ready to remind me.

When I get downstairs, I see Amos and Kennedy already have everything in order. Unfortunately, tomorrow we expect guests numbering three times our maximum occupancy. Having everything in order today means the caravan guys have just finished unloading twenty rooms worth of furniture. We have that kind of space now, thanks to the Provisional paying up front.

Not that it cost us anything! Amos got so cap-drunk off the booking that when Kennedy pointed out we didn’t have enough rooms he took a sledgehammer to the wall between the Inn and the building behind. “In architectural terms, that’s an interior wall,” he said at the time, “so technically we already own it.” I have no idea what he was thinking. Even the ghouls can’t remember the last time Concord had someone in charge of caring who owns what.

Our “new” rooms are in decent shape, but the décor doesn’t match. Or the insulation. Or the smell. At least the wall he destroyed was not, “in architectural terms”, load-bearing.

Glancing outside, I count four brahmin carts surrounded by guards, every last one drinking away the money he just earned. I’m sure Amos gave them his famous “delivery discount” – one drink for the price of two for anyone who isn’t coming back. More men than I’ve seen at the same time in years and not only are they bad with money, but not one of them is even good-looking. Plenty coming in tomorrow, I guess.

“Get over here,” Kennedy yells at me. She notices what had me distracted. “And keep your pants on. At least while the sun’s up.”

Amos doesn’t give me a chance to tell her how securely my pants will remain on my body. “We’re going to do this efficiently,” he says. “Each room needs a bed, a couple chairs, and one of those folding tables. I’ll take care of getting those things where they belong. The beds, to start with, but they come in parts so I’ll need Holly to put them together.

“Of course,” he goes on, before I can protest, “she’s gonna ask why Kennedy doesn’t have to do that. Don’t worry, Hol, I won’t keep you guessing. It’s because putting the beds together will make lots of noise, and we both have a headache from last night.”

“Me too,” I say.

Kennedy laughs. “You mean that extra snooze time didn’t cure you? Shame. You could’ve mentioned that if you had gotten here before we decided.”

I make a note to sneak some Jet in her drink next time she needs a good night’s sleep. “What’ll Ken do then?” I ask, taking care to look Amos in the eye as I drop that nickname. I try not to look too pleased with myself as I imagine her death stare, but I’ve never been too good at hiding it.

“Decorating duty. She’s gonna hang the curtains, tune the radio, check the lanterns – you know, give the place some ambiance,” he says. He stresses the word _ambiance_ , using an accent I’ve never heard but probably not the right one. “Make the beds look nice, too, once you’ve got them built.”

“Well, every hard-working man needs a place to lie down after a long day,” I say, glancing towards her. “And if anyone’s qualified to make a man of any guy who lies down in one of our rooms, it’s Kennedy.” Again I try not to look too pleased.

Amos doesn’t laugh, but he does start coughing up a storm. “Toolbox is in the office, Hol,” he says once he has his breath. “Give me about twenty minutes, then meet me on the third floor west hall.”


End file.
